Blocked, but not forgotten

Despite hopes of red mirages leading to blue waves, I could sense what Election Night 2024 would bring.

America has never failed to disappoint me, and I knew it would again. Though an eerie calm (aided by Ativan) filled me, it couldn't mask the one thing I buried itself deep in the weeks leading to that evening.

This is where I should talk about Henry.

We first met through my ex-boyfriend. I had been naïve to think I could reconfigure our toxic coupling into a friendship with occasional benefits. That naivete would come back to bite me in the ass when Henry became my ex's rebound less than a month after our breakup.

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Henry," he said during a call. "Can I bring him over this weekend?" After denying his request and hanging up, Henry sent me a DM and later asked if we could talk. It would be the first of many calls between Henry and me. Witty, kind, and genuine, it was difficult not to gravitate toward Henry. We spoke for hours that day and nearly every other day after that.

“Love you, Goober,” he would say at the end of every conversation.

A year later, Henry and I had a falling out. I don't recall what caused it, but I know I was not prepared to lose his energy.

About two years ago, a scroll through my Facebook Memories led me to a comment from Henry. I was surprised that I could still access his profile. Other than a lack of hair, he looked exactly as I remembered him.

I hesitated before sending him a message, not knowing how he might react. Would he still be holding on to that grudge? I had nothing to lose, so I sent him a short note. He responded almost immediately.

After sharing some necessary life updates, he shared one of his own. While working as a rideshare driver, he began suffering from fainting spells and issues with walking. One doctor's visit led to two, and two became four. Around his sixth doctor, he was given a diagnosis of a brain tumor. Surgery to remove it took place earlier that summer. It was mostly successful but left him with some memory loss and seizures.

"Many friends I had stopped calling after my surgery," Henry shared. "I’ve been lonely. I’m so glad you reached out." Almost immediately, we were right back to talking almost daily. Most of our conversations still began and ended in laughter, and Henry closed them out exactly as he had back then.

“Love you, Goober.”

At some point, he was hospitalized for nearly a week. While recuperating, his mother, Maryann, took care of any calls and texts that came his way. While responding to one from me, I asked if we could stay in touch through Facebook in case something serious occurred with Henry. She accepted the request later that day.

On September 15, 2024, Donald Trump survived a second assassination attempt less than three months after a different gunman attempted to end his life at a rally. Not even 90 minutes after news of the second shooting made waves, Maryann posted a photo on Facebook of the alleged shooter being led away in handcuffs.

“2-0," she captioned it. "Nice try, losers! #MAGA.”

I was stunned as Ms. Maryann was a proud Latina, and her son, Henry, was a gay Latino. Anyone who has paid attention to the news cycle over the last 12 years knows how Trump openly detests those from marginalized communities. I unfriended Ms. Maryann that day and prayed it wouldn't get back to Henry.

It hadn't crossed my mind to ask Henry about his political leanings. I assumed he was a registered Democrat, like myself, as the party fiercely supports the communities we both come from. Besides, just because his mother had ignorant beliefs didn't mean he did.

Henry posted a wordy rant on his Facebook page the day before Election Day. He had been taken to task by an acquaintance who strongly disagreed with a political comic Henry shared earlier that morning. "There’s a difference between having a thoughtful debate about the election and merely echoing misinformation from uninformed liberals."

I was familiar with many of those terms. I could feel my heart tear inside of my chest. The feeling got worse when Henry texted me later that day to explain. "I should post what I want without someone telling me that I’m a ‘bad gay’ because I’m a Republican."

And there it was, clear as day. As I sat there fighting to accept who my friend was, I realized I had two choices. Both involved accepting said reality, but one included losing Henry forever.

“Love you, Goober," I kept hearing him say. I loved him, too - more than he knew, to be honest. It was the worst possible time to realize I had fallen in love with Henry. And I knew I couldn't lose him again.

And so, I made a choice.

“Maybe we don't see eye to eye on everything," I told him, "but I missed you too much. So, here we are." And there, indeed, we were: A gay Democrat and a gay Republican. Was it stupid of me? Maybe, but I was scared of never hearing him call me "Goober" again.

On Election Night, I decided to turn off everything early. Before I laid my head to rest, I grabbed my phone and channeled my frustrations into a short but strongly worded Facebook post.

"To everyone who voted for him, especially people of color: I truly hope your proximity to whiteness keeps you safe."

That night, I dreamt that Vice President Harris pulled a late-stage victory and became the President-Elect of the United States. When I opened my eyes later that morning, I could feel the dread seep through my window. I didn't need confirmation of the actual results. I knew who won. I grabbed my phone and prepared myself for the despair that would greet me online.

One of the first things that caught my eye was the large reception to my Facebook post the previous night. Among the friends who reacted and responded was Henry, who responded with the care emoji.

I just didn't get it. Was Henry mocking me somehow? Was this his way of showing "support" despite making the choice he willingly made? I sat at the corner of my bed, working out how to get the info I needed from Henry with minimal drama. I decided that simplicity would be best. I texted a screenshot of the post his way and added a simple question: "Why?”

"Why not? Our difference in political views doesn’t change my love for you."

It was the first time I wished Henry hadn’t told me he loved me. I stood with his words for a long while. After collecting myself, I gave him my truth.

"I’m not sure if I believe that," I responded.

"Okey-dokey,” Henry he replied.

His carelessness sealed the deal. With shaky fingers and tears flooding my eyes, I accessed his contact page on my phone, hit the block button, and then did so all over social media. For the second time in my life, I lost someone I wanted in my life forever.

I love Henry. That may never change. Regardless, you cannot claim to love someone while actively voting against them. That includes those who vote against the same marginalized communities that they come from.

I'm trying to find a moral from this experience, but this freshness has stopped me from doing so. I've distanced myself from loved ones over ignorant takes, but this hits differently.

I guess it helps to know that I'm not the only person in America dealing with something like this.

Maybe one day, it will hurt less. Maybe one day, I'll forgive Henry and try again.

But today isn't that day.

A Bronx-born pop culture commentator, Jonathan Apollo finds his way back to the writing field after losing his mother to cancer in 2021. It was this profound loss that reminded him of his role in this world as a storyteller. He considers Usagi Tsukino (Sailor Moon) his greatest hero and the iconic Selena Quintanilla-Perez as his beacon of self-acceptance. Oh, and if you haven’t figured it out by now, he’s pretty gay, too. He can be found on X/Twitter and Bluesky at @JonnyAWrites.

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